[IDW] All the Queen's Treasure 05
Feb. 3rd, 2020 06:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: All the Queen’s Treasure
Continuity: IDW, Alternate Canon
Characters: Sunstreaker, Ironhide, Bob the Insecticon, Hardshell, Sharpshot, Kickback, Original Insecticon Character(s)
Pairings: Hardshell/Sunstreaker, Insecticon(s)/Sunstreaker, Hardshell/Sunstreaker/Sharpshot
Rating: M
Enticements: Consensual Body Modification, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Non-Graphic Oviposition, Off-screen Egg Laying, Knotting
Description: After Sideswipe, Sunstreaker returns to Cybertron, lost and alone, until Bob leads him on a wild chase into the wildlands, to a nest beneath the surface of the planet, and a place Sunstreaker might call home.
Part Five
Hardshell swept Sunstreaker out of the room that was to be his for the foreseeable future, and down a long hallway, back to what Sunstreaker was internally deeming the main corridor. It seemed to connect to everything, and while it wasn’t particularly massive, it did appear well-traveled.
It branched off, left and right, and Hardshell took the right, Bob padding along behind them, the click-click-click of his feet a reassuring sound in a corridor that was otherwise silent. It was a bit unnerving. There was, distantly, a low and steady hum Sunstreaker thought might have been the bulk of the Hive, doing whatever it was they did throughout the day.
It took them longer than it should have, perhaps, only because Sunstreaker could not resist kissing Hardshell. He traced seams and armor protrusions. He swept his fingers over the kibble of Hardshell’s frame, memorizing them with sight and touch. There was a low curl of want in his belly, and it tightened and tightened with every shared kiss.
Hardshell hummed against his lips and adjusted his grip on Sunstreaker’s frame after one particularly lengthy kiss. “Be careful, my queen,” he said, with a small smile on his face. “You distract me too much, and I might drop you.”
“Oh, I’m distracting, am I?” Sunstreaker grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Hardshell nuzzled him, like Sunstreaker often imagined real lovers would. “Every inch of you is a distraction,” he said, before he kept walking, a low rumble in his engine vibrating through Sunstreaker’s frame.
Sunstreaker’s grin widened. He tucked himself under Hardshell’s chin, relaxing into the Insecticon’s grip. “Will you tell me now?” he asked as he allowed himself to give in to the comfort.
“Tell you what, my queen?”
“Everything.” Sunstreaker made a face. “And don’t call me that. Just call me, Sunstreaker, okay?” He paused and reconsidered. “I mean, if it’s a big deal, at least when we’re alone?”
Hardshell paused mid-step and looked down at him, something fond in his visor. “Whatever you wish, Sunstreaker.”
The way he purred Sunstreaker’s designation had to be illegal. It went straight to Sunstreaker’s array, making him stir, valve twitching with interest.
“That’s better,” Sunstreaker tried not to squeak. “But back to my original question…?”
Hardshell chuckled. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He started walking again, and they were definitely heading in a downward slope. “There is a lot of knowledge you lack. It will take many, many days for you to learn everything that is necessary for rulership of your Hive.”
Primus.
Sunstreaker had always hated studying. He squinted up at the Insecticon. “Doesn’t the change just download the information into me?”
“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.” Hardshell outright laughed, a grating, rustling noise that vibrated through Sunstreaker’s frame. “Some will come to you as instinctual, but most of it will not.”
“Fine. Then tell me about you,” Sunstreaker said.
He tipped his head to track their route. The walls were getting smoother now, and they glistened in the dim glow of whatever phosphorescence hung in globules in the ceiling. Some kind of natural light? Yet another question to add to the list.
“You know who I am,” Hardshell answered.
“I know your name,” Sunstreaker corrected. “But I don’t know who you are.”
Hardshell hummed thoughtfully. “Fair enough.”
The path diverged and once again, Hardshell took the right corridor, and a smell floated to Sunstreaker’s sensory suite. It was damp and earthen, but also with the distinct tang of warmed oil. There was a cleanliness to it, a purity. It hadn’t been spoiled by constant and relentless recycling or the filth of hundreds of mechs.
“You know that I am Queenmaker,” Hardshell said as the tunnel brightened ahead of them, still the softness of a natural luminescence, but brighter. “It means that I alone am capable of creating a new queen.” He paused and his voice quieted. “But it also means that I can never sire.”
Sunstreaker looked up at him, reading the regret in his voice. “You mean…?”
“I am sterile,” Hardshell said with a tilt of his head before his gaze turned fully forward. “There are others – the studs – who are tasked with fertilizing the eggs you’ll bear us, but I will never be one of them.”
Insecticon energy fields remained a mystery to him. But the harmonics in Hardshell’s vocalizer spoke of regret. Sadness. It must hurt, to have only one purpose in his functioning, and when that purpose was fulfilled, what then?
Sunstreaker frowned. “What does that mean? For you, I mean, after I’m fully… changed?”
“It means whatever you wish it to me. Historically, my duty is to the queen. I tend to your wants, your needs, and if you have no need of me, then I will lead your army as I always have, and you need never see me again.”
Hardshell ducked under a low overhang, and the oilsprings came into view. Sunstreaker gasped at the sight. A long, open room was filled with various pools, their liquids glowing with a pearlescent sheen. Little curls of steam rose from the surface, heated by something Sunstreaker couldn’t see.
Hardshell set Sunstreaker down by the nearest one, but instead of immediately diving in, Sunstreaker turned back toward Hardshell. He took the Queenmaker’s hand, which dwarfed his, and clasped it between his own.
“You promised you’d stay by my side,” Sunstreaker said, once again relying on a tone of command he’d rarely utilized before. “Why do you think I’d want that to change?”
Hardshell’s head dipped, his fingers curling into Sunstreaker’s hand. “Past experience. But as you seem to be the exception to the rule, I bow to your preference.” He curled forward, lips brushing over Sunstreaker’s forehead. “Whatever you wish of me, my Sunstreaker.”
He shivered, head to toe, plating lifting and flaring. “Stay with me,” Sunstreaker asked, and he swallowed down the urge to beg.
Someone stay with him.
“Then so shall it be.” Hardshell squeezed his hand and gestured to the oilspring with the other. “Do you wish to indulge?”
“More than anything.” Sunstreaker eased his hands free, though Hardshell kept a grip on one, holding him steady as he stepped down into the slick, warm oil.
Oh, Primus. This must be what the Afterspark felt like.
Sunstreaker rumbled a moan. He waded further and further in, until he was submerged to mid-chassis, and the oil swirled around his frame, seeping into his joints and cables.
The oil rippled as Hardshell joined him, then splashed as Bob took a running leap, slapping with a loud thud onto the surface before sinking below. He was a hardy bug though, and his vents closed automatically before he could flood his fans. Silly bug.
Sunstreaker settled into a nook in the side of the oilspring – naturally carved he found – and sank in to his neck. He watched Bob paddle around, and Hardshell find another nook as well, a look of ease on the Insecticon’s shoulders.
“That’s what you want, right?” Sunstreaker asked as he tilted his head. “To stay beside me, I mean? Because I don’t want you to say yes just because it’s what I want.”
Hardshell’s lips curved into a toothy smile. “It’s what I want,” he rumbled. He braced his arms on the shelf of the spring behind him. “Your predecessor… she did not wish for my presence. She preferred Kickback, and, well, you’ve seen how that has affected him.”
“Will you tell me about him?”
“As much as I can. His story is not mine.” Hardshell cycled a ventilation, his expression smoothing out. “You may have noticed my markings.” He gestured to his face and the three slashes Sunstreaker had noted long ago. “They denote my rank. I am your first, I will always be your first. To that end, Sharpshot is your second, and Kickback is your third.”
It was not unlike the chain of command in the army. Easy enough to follow. Sunstreaker gestured for Hardshell to continue.
“I am Queenmaker,” Hardshell said, “but I am also general of your army. Your soldiers and your scouts fall under my purview. Kickback is chief of your medics, your feeders, your nurses, your studs. And Sharpshot holds the history, the knowledge, of all who’ve come before. He also takes charge of the searchers, like your companion. Together, we are your cadre.” He tipped his head in a respectful bow.
Sunstreaker had the suspicion that there was a deeper meaning behind stating the three ranked Insecticons were his. Judging by Kickback’s reaction and the intonation behind Hardshell’s words at least.
He gnawed on his bottom lip. “That’s why my berth is the size it is.”
“Yes, my queen.” Hardshell rapped his taloned fingers on the edge of the spring. “Large enough for the three of us to join you anytime you wish.”
Sunstreaker shook his head. “No. I only want people in my berth who want to be there.” His tank churned at the idea of forcing anyone or commanding anyone or worse, someone joining him because of some stupid rule that said they had to.
“That is very good to know.” Hardshell’s tone turned syrupy warm, and Sunstreaker shivered. “I’ll speak with Kickback, and encourage him to let you allay his fears. It may take some time.”
Sunstreaker nibbled on his bottom lip. He wasn’t a stranger to Kickback’s experiences. “I know. It’s fine. Whatever makes him comfortable.”
Hardshell nodded and pushed off the edge of the spring, wading through the water toward Sunstreaker, deftly avoiding a happily splashing Bob in the process. “May I help you bathe?”
Sunstreaker worked his intake, another shiver of heat passing through his frame. “Only if you want to,” he said.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Hardshell reached over him, dripping oil as he did so, and snagged a nearby basket of supplies. He tugged it closer, withdrawing a cloth that didn’t seem to be made of any material Sunstreaker had ever seen. Well, no. That wasn’t precisely true. He’d seen similar materials on Earth, but never on Cybertron.
“I don’t want to leave,” Sunstreaker said as Hardshell lifted his arm and gently stroked the cloth over it, the texture as smooth as silk. “But I will need to go to the surface at some point. My comms don’t work down here.”
“A necessary safety precaution.” Hardshell’s tone was light, guarded, but there was now a tension in his armor.
“Yeah, and I get that, it’s just, there are people who might come looking for me, and I want to make sure they don’t,” Sunstreaker replied.
A tremor ran across Hardshell’s armor, his visor flashing. “We will destroy anyone who threatens you, my Sunstreaker.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sunstreaker rested a hand on his arm and squeezed to catch his attention. “I don’t want any killing. I’m tired of killing.” He was good at it, but damn if he didn’t want that to be his only legacy. “If the others realize the Insecticons are here, they might try and kill you. The Swarm, you know.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.” Another tremor clattered Hardshell’s frame before he cycled a ventilation, and it calmed. He lifted Sunstreaker’s other arm and began to wipe it down as well. “I appreciate you trying to protect us.”
“Well… you’re my Hive now,” Sunstreaker said, a bit of a flush staining his face because it still sounded weird to admit that. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Hardshell’s cleaning paused, and he looked directly at Sunstreaker now. “The Hive protects the queen,” he said, but it was thoughtful rather than correcting. “It shouldn’t surprise me that you want to be different in that aspect as well.”
"I'm a soldier. You can't think I'll just sit back and be protected. And if you're going to be my Hive, I can't sit and watch you be slaughtered either."
Hardshell hummed, making the oil vibrate and Sunstreaker by proxy. He shivered, especially when Hardshell cleaned his fingers, one by one, paying attention to the delicate mechanisms of his joints.
"A warrior queen," Hardshell murmured as if tasting the phrase. "Yes, I think you will suit us quite nicely. We will be a warrior hive."
"What else am I supposed to do?" Sunstreaker asked as he swallowed a moan, his entire frame sinking further into the oil, the warmth of it seeping all the way to his substructure. "I mean, I'm going to hate it if all I do is sit around and lay eggs."
Hardshell hummed again and stepped back, only to slide one hand down Sunstreaker's leg until he curved fingers around his ankle, lifting it from the spring to be dutifully scrubbed. "The Queen has many duties. Eggs are very important, but you are also mediator, diplomat, keeper of knowledge. You are our hub. Our nexus." One long finger teased into Sunstreaker's ankle, and Sunstreaker shivered again, bits of charge zinging up his spinal strut. "You will guide us toward peace with the surface mechs."
"Diplomat? Mediator?" Sunstreaker snorted a laugh before he could stop himself. "You picked the wrong mech if you wanted that."
"You will learn. I have faith in your abilities." Hardshell swept the washing cloth up Sunstreaker's leg, to mid-thigh, and down again, paying gentle attention to his knee joint. "Sharpshot will assist."
Sunstreaker couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed. It was almost dizzying, the steady cadence of Hardshell's hands over his frame, the rhythm of Hardshell's voice. It was too easy to forget that the mech embracing him, caressing him, was not a mech at all, but an Insecticon, albeit one completely unlike any Sunstreaker had ever faced.
His valve tingled in memory.
"A-am I the first?" Sunstreaker asked, trying to distract himself from the low curl of arousal building in his belly. "The first attempt at finding a new queen, I mean."
"There were others."
"Yeah? What happened to them?"
Hardshell was quiet for a moment as he shifted to Sunstreaker's other leg, bending his focus upon it as though it was the most important task to him at the moment.
"One refused and was returned to the surface unharmed. They could not bring themselves to see us as intelligent creatures." His engine rumbled with offense. "They were no great loss."
"Why did you even consider them in the first place?"
"Our searcher evaluated their strength of will. It was adequate." Hardshell clicked his mandibles together, and it sounded like disgust. "The searcher was relieved of duty afterward."
'Relieved of duty'? Why did it sound like the searcher wasn't so much relieved as he was killed and/or consumed?
"What about the others?"
Hardshell's hands slid up, smoothing over his thigh, and Sunstreaker's ventilations quickened. "One did not understand our guarantee of safety and attacked us. We were forced to kill them. And the last one did not survive the process."
Sunstreaker stilled. "This could kill me?"
Hardshell's hands rested on his knees, and he looked up at Sunstreaker. "You have no concern. You are much stronger than them. They did not survive the first input, while your frame already craves the second."
"Does it?" Sunstreaker asked.
Hardshell tilted his head, and his hands slid up, thumbs caressing the inner plating of Sunstreaker's thighs, until they found his interfacing array. They brushed over it, and Sunstreaker sucked in a ventilation, a shiver of need clawing down his backstrut.
Sunstreaker parted his thighs further without thinking about it, and Hardshell's second touch was firmer. He bit off a groan, hips canting into Hardshell's fingers.
"This is why you are perfect," Hardshell murmured. "You are strong. You are what we need. You will be our queen."
Another stroke of his thumbs and Sunstreaker's panel snapped open, his sensors immediately bombarded by a wave of warm oil. He sucked in a moan, grasped Hardshell's shoulders, rolled his hips.
"Would you like more, my queen?" Hardshell asked, and his voice was deep and resonating, full of lascivious intent.
Primus.
Sunstreaker pulled him closer. "Yeah," he said, trying to throw his legs around Hardshell's waist, pull the Insecticon toward his waiting valve. "So long as it doesn't kill me."
Hardshell chuckled and slipped his hands around Sunstreaker's aft, lifting him from the shelf with ease. He swapped their places, seating himself and positioning Sunstreaker to straddle him, thighs splayed wide to accommodate his wider frame.
"It will not," Hardshell said, his hands sliding up and down Sunstreaker's back, teasing into seams.
Sunstreaker shivered. Hardshell touched nothing erogenous, yet the caress of his fingers set Sunstreaker's sensornet alive with want. He moaned, valve clenching on nothing, squeezing out lubricant into the warm oil.
"It will make you stronger, faster, better. It will make you our queen."
Hardshelll's spike nudged at his valve, and Sunstreaker canted his hips eagerly. Hardshell held him in place, sliding into him slow and careful, gliding along every internal sensor. He cupped Sunstreaker's left hip, but the other hand cradled his head, tipping his head back to nuzzle him.
"May I kiss you, my queen?" he asked.
Asked. He asked for everything. He offered so much.
Sunstreaker snagged him by the back of the head and pulled him into the kiss, thrusting his glossa into Hardshell's mouth, past dangerous denta. He moaned and sucked on Hardshell's glossa, the Insecticon's odd, earthy flavor suddenly intoxicating to him.
Hardshell's spike pierced him easily, with no need for the extended stretching their first encounter had taken, and it spilled crackles of charge along Sunstreaker's valve lining.
He spasmed in Hardshell's arms, gasping with pleasure, backstrut arching.
Hardshell took him slowly, like he was trying to taste every inch of Sunstreaker's valve, until he was fully seated. Sunstreaker's valve stretched wide, his thighs as well, hips aching from the splay, but it was a good ache. It made him crave more.
He moaned again, burying his face against Hardshell's intake, hips jerking in little rocks, his spike grinding against Hardshell's abdomen, catching on rises and nubs on Hardshell's armor.
"My beautiful queen," Hardshell murmured, and Sunstreaker gasped, an unexpected overload sweeping over his frame like a tide of charge, prickling over his armor, seeping warmth into his pelvic array.
He sank, like liquid, into Hardshell's lap, and Hardshell cradled him like something precious, as he rocked his hips, extending Sunstreaker's overload, his spike swelling incrementally, filling every nook and cranny in Sunstreaker's valve. The tip rubbed and caught on Sunstreaker's ceiling node, extending the pleasure.
There was no pain. Not even when Hardshell's extenders sank into the lining of his valve, and the electric trickle of the upload cascaded through his array. Sunstreaker moaned, dizzy with pleasure, overloading again, so quickly on the heels of the first. His valve throbbed, cycling hungrily, and Hardshell never stopped stroking him, murmuring to him, constant compliments and encouragement, until Sunstreaker swam in the praise.
"See?" Hardshell crooned as he swelled and swelled and swelled, until he was locked within Sunstreaker, tying them together, only able to shift in the smallest of increments. "You are perfect. You fit. You were made to be ours."
It sounded genuine. It felt true. It felt like belonging, like something settled warm and firm in the center of Sunstreaker's chassis, right below his spark. A tender pulse of acceptance, and for a moment, it was so foreign he thought he might need to evict it, until he realized how desperately he wanted to keep it.
"Your queen," he agreed as another wave of pleasure swept out from his valve, following the static-charge pulse of an upload. His fingers clawed into Hardshell's seams, his hips twitching but getting nowhere, valve stretched wide around Hardshell's knot.
He overloaded again, as if the acceptance triggered something inside of him, wave upon wave of crashing pleasure, flooding his frame. His valve spasmed, his spike erupted, and for a moment, his senses went absolutely white from the ecstasy.
He had no energy left in the aftermath. He felt as weak as a newspark, or a mech recently freed from a stasis chamber. His legs were as jelly, his limbs too heavy to lift. Hardshell was a comfortable, thrumming weight beneath him, still firm within his valve.
"Rest, my queen," Hardshell murmured as Sunstreaker sank against his chassis, sated and weary, little twitches running along his armor. "You are safe with me. Rest."
Safe.
Yes.
Sunstreaker was certain of it.
~
Waking in the berth was becoming a habit to Sunstreaker. It was hard to mind, however, given the comfort radiating through his frame, the warm rumble of Bob recharging at his feet, and the cradle of Hardshell’s arms around him.
"How do you feel?" Hardshell asked, his voice rumbling through Sunstreaker's audials.
"Drowsy," Sunstreaker admitted. He felt languid, like it was too much trouble to climb out of the berth. "Is it always going to be like this?"
Hardshell stroked his arm with long and gentle sweeps of his fingers. "For the first couple weeks, the first dozen uploads, yes. Your frame will be going through much change, and it will take a lot out of you."
"Unfortunate," Sunstreaker sighed. It was hard to stay focused. He felt tired, but not in a way that left him weak and uncomfortable. It was a relaxing tired, like he could stay in the berth for a few weeks and doze comfortably.
“It will be worth it.” Hardshell stroked the side of his face, and there was something reverent in it. “You will be stronger with every upload. Your stamina will increase. The times between rest will decrease. You will assimilate with ease.”
Assimilate.
Sunstreaker didn’t like the taste of the word. It was foul, like rotten energon. It tasted like Hunter and the Machina. Like losing his sense of self.
“Ease,” he repeated. “I notice you didn’t warn me about the danger. So much for your ease.” He injected venom into his tone, since he couldn’t work up the energy for anything more. His limbs were too sluggish. Hardshell was too warm.
It was too late to change his mind anyway. It was easier to see rationale in the aftermath. Harder when the need started boiling in him again, making him pliable.
Hardshell’s engine rumbled. “Would it have made a difference, my queen?”
“Do you think I have a fragging death wish?” Sunstreaker demanded, and he would have drawn away from Hardshell, would have shoved himself into some distance, if he could get his frame to obey his commands.
Hardshell’s quiet spoke more than an immediate reply.
“You may not have wanted to die, but you weren’t trying to live either,” Hardshell said, at length. “You came to us broken. You are still broken.”
Sunstreaker gritted his denta. He wished it were further from the truth, but Hardshell’s words struck too close to home. His field flashed with frustration, and that was when Bob woke from recharge. He trundled across the berth, clambering into the small space of Sunstreaker’s lap, worry etched into the awkward pats of his secondary hands.
“I’m fine, bug,” Sunstreaker sighed, stroking over Bob’s head and scratching at the base of his antennae. “You know, you and Starscream would get along, Hardshell. He’s not above manipulating others for his own needs either.”
“I sense you were attempting to insult me, but as I believe you belong here with us, I am not.” Hardshell’s engine rumbled, vibrating against Sunstreaker’s frame, not unlike the way Bob purred when he was happy about something. “You were meant to be ours.”
Sunstreaker sank into the warmth of Hardshell’s embrace, idly petting Bob as he did so. He’d never been good with words. He was a mech of action. He hadn’t the energy for action right now, but also, what was the point. He’d agreed to this. He’d survived the first upload. Clearly, he was already on the path to changing.
There wasn’t anything left for him at the surface. He might as well continue this path. Bob brought him here for a reason.
“I knew from the moment the searcher brought you to us, that you would be the one. You were strong. You were determined. You had a spark fit for a queen.” Hardshell’s tone was thick with praise, with reverence. It was hard not to fall under his spell. “You will be a queen I am eager to serve. You will heal us, and perhaps we might heal you in return.”
Bob nudged his head under Sunstreaker’s fingers, his antennae wiggling with delight. He chirred up at Sunstreaker as if agreeing with Hardshell.
“Whose side are you on anyway, bug?” Sunstreaker murmured, but there was no chastisement in his voice. Bob was the only one who stayed at his side, who wouldn’t leave him.
They’d saved each other.
Maybe Hardshell had a point.
“If you are angry with me, I will understand. If you wish to leave this place, we will mourn, but again, I will understand.” Hardshell’s voice was tight, carrying the weight of his disappointment. “But we are meant to be yours, Sunstreaker. Do not throw us away.”
Sunstreaker sighed and sank into Hardshelle’s embrace, tucked as he was against the Insecticon’s chassis. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m too tired.”
It was an excuse.
Hardshell didn’t call him on it.
“Rest, my queen,” he said. “I will guard your sleep.”
Sunstreaker believed him, at least in this.
***
Continuity: IDW, Alternate Canon
Characters: Sunstreaker, Ironhide, Bob the Insecticon, Hardshell, Sharpshot, Kickback, Original Insecticon Character(s)
Pairings: Hardshell/Sunstreaker, Insecticon(s)/Sunstreaker, Hardshell/Sunstreaker/Sharpshot
Rating: M
Enticements: Consensual Body Modification, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Non-Graphic Oviposition, Off-screen Egg Laying, Knotting
Description: After Sideswipe, Sunstreaker returns to Cybertron, lost and alone, until Bob leads him on a wild chase into the wildlands, to a nest beneath the surface of the planet, and a place Sunstreaker might call home.
Hardshell swept Sunstreaker out of the room that was to be his for the foreseeable future, and down a long hallway, back to what Sunstreaker was internally deeming the main corridor. It seemed to connect to everything, and while it wasn’t particularly massive, it did appear well-traveled.
It branched off, left and right, and Hardshell took the right, Bob padding along behind them, the click-click-click of his feet a reassuring sound in a corridor that was otherwise silent. It was a bit unnerving. There was, distantly, a low and steady hum Sunstreaker thought might have been the bulk of the Hive, doing whatever it was they did throughout the day.
It took them longer than it should have, perhaps, only because Sunstreaker could not resist kissing Hardshell. He traced seams and armor protrusions. He swept his fingers over the kibble of Hardshell’s frame, memorizing them with sight and touch. There was a low curl of want in his belly, and it tightened and tightened with every shared kiss.
Hardshell hummed against his lips and adjusted his grip on Sunstreaker’s frame after one particularly lengthy kiss. “Be careful, my queen,” he said, with a small smile on his face. “You distract me too much, and I might drop you.”
“Oh, I’m distracting, am I?” Sunstreaker grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Hardshell nuzzled him, like Sunstreaker often imagined real lovers would. “Every inch of you is a distraction,” he said, before he kept walking, a low rumble in his engine vibrating through Sunstreaker’s frame.
Sunstreaker’s grin widened. He tucked himself under Hardshell’s chin, relaxing into the Insecticon’s grip. “Will you tell me now?” he asked as he allowed himself to give in to the comfort.
“Tell you what, my queen?”
“Everything.” Sunstreaker made a face. “And don’t call me that. Just call me, Sunstreaker, okay?” He paused and reconsidered. “I mean, if it’s a big deal, at least when we’re alone?”
Hardshell paused mid-step and looked down at him, something fond in his visor. “Whatever you wish, Sunstreaker.”
The way he purred Sunstreaker’s designation had to be illegal. It went straight to Sunstreaker’s array, making him stir, valve twitching with interest.
“That’s better,” Sunstreaker tried not to squeak. “But back to my original question…?”
Hardshell chuckled. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He started walking again, and they were definitely heading in a downward slope. “There is a lot of knowledge you lack. It will take many, many days for you to learn everything that is necessary for rulership of your Hive.”
Primus.
Sunstreaker had always hated studying. He squinted up at the Insecticon. “Doesn’t the change just download the information into me?”
“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid.” Hardshell outright laughed, a grating, rustling noise that vibrated through Sunstreaker’s frame. “Some will come to you as instinctual, but most of it will not.”
“Fine. Then tell me about you,” Sunstreaker said.
He tipped his head to track their route. The walls were getting smoother now, and they glistened in the dim glow of whatever phosphorescence hung in globules in the ceiling. Some kind of natural light? Yet another question to add to the list.
“You know who I am,” Hardshell answered.
“I know your name,” Sunstreaker corrected. “But I don’t know who you are.”
Hardshell hummed thoughtfully. “Fair enough.”
The path diverged and once again, Hardshell took the right corridor, and a smell floated to Sunstreaker’s sensory suite. It was damp and earthen, but also with the distinct tang of warmed oil. There was a cleanliness to it, a purity. It hadn’t been spoiled by constant and relentless recycling or the filth of hundreds of mechs.
“You know that I am Queenmaker,” Hardshell said as the tunnel brightened ahead of them, still the softness of a natural luminescence, but brighter. “It means that I alone am capable of creating a new queen.” He paused and his voice quieted. “But it also means that I can never sire.”
Sunstreaker looked up at him, reading the regret in his voice. “You mean…?”
“I am sterile,” Hardshell said with a tilt of his head before his gaze turned fully forward. “There are others – the studs – who are tasked with fertilizing the eggs you’ll bear us, but I will never be one of them.”
Insecticon energy fields remained a mystery to him. But the harmonics in Hardshell’s vocalizer spoke of regret. Sadness. It must hurt, to have only one purpose in his functioning, and when that purpose was fulfilled, what then?
Sunstreaker frowned. “What does that mean? For you, I mean, after I’m fully… changed?”
“It means whatever you wish it to me. Historically, my duty is to the queen. I tend to your wants, your needs, and if you have no need of me, then I will lead your army as I always have, and you need never see me again.”
Hardshell ducked under a low overhang, and the oilsprings came into view. Sunstreaker gasped at the sight. A long, open room was filled with various pools, their liquids glowing with a pearlescent sheen. Little curls of steam rose from the surface, heated by something Sunstreaker couldn’t see.
Hardshell set Sunstreaker down by the nearest one, but instead of immediately diving in, Sunstreaker turned back toward Hardshell. He took the Queenmaker’s hand, which dwarfed his, and clasped it between his own.
“You promised you’d stay by my side,” Sunstreaker said, once again relying on a tone of command he’d rarely utilized before. “Why do you think I’d want that to change?”
Hardshell’s head dipped, his fingers curling into Sunstreaker’s hand. “Past experience. But as you seem to be the exception to the rule, I bow to your preference.” He curled forward, lips brushing over Sunstreaker’s forehead. “Whatever you wish of me, my Sunstreaker.”
He shivered, head to toe, plating lifting and flaring. “Stay with me,” Sunstreaker asked, and he swallowed down the urge to beg.
Someone stay with him.
“Then so shall it be.” Hardshell squeezed his hand and gestured to the oilspring with the other. “Do you wish to indulge?”
“More than anything.” Sunstreaker eased his hands free, though Hardshell kept a grip on one, holding him steady as he stepped down into the slick, warm oil.
Oh, Primus. This must be what the Afterspark felt like.
Sunstreaker rumbled a moan. He waded further and further in, until he was submerged to mid-chassis, and the oil swirled around his frame, seeping into his joints and cables.
The oil rippled as Hardshell joined him, then splashed as Bob took a running leap, slapping with a loud thud onto the surface before sinking below. He was a hardy bug though, and his vents closed automatically before he could flood his fans. Silly bug.
Sunstreaker settled into a nook in the side of the oilspring – naturally carved he found – and sank in to his neck. He watched Bob paddle around, and Hardshell find another nook as well, a look of ease on the Insecticon’s shoulders.
“That’s what you want, right?” Sunstreaker asked as he tilted his head. “To stay beside me, I mean? Because I don’t want you to say yes just because it’s what I want.”
Hardshell’s lips curved into a toothy smile. “It’s what I want,” he rumbled. He braced his arms on the shelf of the spring behind him. “Your predecessor… she did not wish for my presence. She preferred Kickback, and, well, you’ve seen how that has affected him.”
“Will you tell me about him?”
“As much as I can. His story is not mine.” Hardshell cycled a ventilation, his expression smoothing out. “You may have noticed my markings.” He gestured to his face and the three slashes Sunstreaker had noted long ago. “They denote my rank. I am your first, I will always be your first. To that end, Sharpshot is your second, and Kickback is your third.”
It was not unlike the chain of command in the army. Easy enough to follow. Sunstreaker gestured for Hardshell to continue.
“I am Queenmaker,” Hardshell said, “but I am also general of your army. Your soldiers and your scouts fall under my purview. Kickback is chief of your medics, your feeders, your nurses, your studs. And Sharpshot holds the history, the knowledge, of all who’ve come before. He also takes charge of the searchers, like your companion. Together, we are your cadre.” He tipped his head in a respectful bow.
Sunstreaker had the suspicion that there was a deeper meaning behind stating the three ranked Insecticons were his. Judging by Kickback’s reaction and the intonation behind Hardshell’s words at least.
He gnawed on his bottom lip. “That’s why my berth is the size it is.”
“Yes, my queen.” Hardshell rapped his taloned fingers on the edge of the spring. “Large enough for the three of us to join you anytime you wish.”
Sunstreaker shook his head. “No. I only want people in my berth who want to be there.” His tank churned at the idea of forcing anyone or commanding anyone or worse, someone joining him because of some stupid rule that said they had to.
“That is very good to know.” Hardshell’s tone turned syrupy warm, and Sunstreaker shivered. “I’ll speak with Kickback, and encourage him to let you allay his fears. It may take some time.”
Sunstreaker nibbled on his bottom lip. He wasn’t a stranger to Kickback’s experiences. “I know. It’s fine. Whatever makes him comfortable.”
Hardshell nodded and pushed off the edge of the spring, wading through the water toward Sunstreaker, deftly avoiding a happily splashing Bob in the process. “May I help you bathe?”
Sunstreaker worked his intake, another shiver of heat passing through his frame. “Only if you want to,” he said.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Hardshell reached over him, dripping oil as he did so, and snagged a nearby basket of supplies. He tugged it closer, withdrawing a cloth that didn’t seem to be made of any material Sunstreaker had ever seen. Well, no. That wasn’t precisely true. He’d seen similar materials on Earth, but never on Cybertron.
“I don’t want to leave,” Sunstreaker said as Hardshell lifted his arm and gently stroked the cloth over it, the texture as smooth as silk. “But I will need to go to the surface at some point. My comms don’t work down here.”
“A necessary safety precaution.” Hardshell’s tone was light, guarded, but there was now a tension in his armor.
“Yeah, and I get that, it’s just, there are people who might come looking for me, and I want to make sure they don’t,” Sunstreaker replied.
A tremor ran across Hardshell’s armor, his visor flashing. “We will destroy anyone who threatens you, my Sunstreaker.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sunstreaker rested a hand on his arm and squeezed to catch his attention. “I don’t want any killing. I’m tired of killing.” He was good at it, but damn if he didn’t want that to be his only legacy. “If the others realize the Insecticons are here, they might try and kill you. The Swarm, you know.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.” Another tremor clattered Hardshell’s frame before he cycled a ventilation, and it calmed. He lifted Sunstreaker’s other arm and began to wipe it down as well. “I appreciate you trying to protect us.”
“Well… you’re my Hive now,” Sunstreaker said, a bit of a flush staining his face because it still sounded weird to admit that. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Hardshell’s cleaning paused, and he looked directly at Sunstreaker now. “The Hive protects the queen,” he said, but it was thoughtful rather than correcting. “It shouldn’t surprise me that you want to be different in that aspect as well.”
"I'm a soldier. You can't think I'll just sit back and be protected. And if you're going to be my Hive, I can't sit and watch you be slaughtered either."
Hardshell hummed, making the oil vibrate and Sunstreaker by proxy. He shivered, especially when Hardshell cleaned his fingers, one by one, paying attention to the delicate mechanisms of his joints.
"A warrior queen," Hardshell murmured as if tasting the phrase. "Yes, I think you will suit us quite nicely. We will be a warrior hive."
"What else am I supposed to do?" Sunstreaker asked as he swallowed a moan, his entire frame sinking further into the oil, the warmth of it seeping all the way to his substructure. "I mean, I'm going to hate it if all I do is sit around and lay eggs."
Hardshell hummed again and stepped back, only to slide one hand down Sunstreaker's leg until he curved fingers around his ankle, lifting it from the spring to be dutifully scrubbed. "The Queen has many duties. Eggs are very important, but you are also mediator, diplomat, keeper of knowledge. You are our hub. Our nexus." One long finger teased into Sunstreaker's ankle, and Sunstreaker shivered again, bits of charge zinging up his spinal strut. "You will guide us toward peace with the surface mechs."
"Diplomat? Mediator?" Sunstreaker snorted a laugh before he could stop himself. "You picked the wrong mech if you wanted that."
"You will learn. I have faith in your abilities." Hardshell swept the washing cloth up Sunstreaker's leg, to mid-thigh, and down again, paying gentle attention to his knee joint. "Sharpshot will assist."
Sunstreaker couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed. It was almost dizzying, the steady cadence of Hardshell's hands over his frame, the rhythm of Hardshell's voice. It was too easy to forget that the mech embracing him, caressing him, was not a mech at all, but an Insecticon, albeit one completely unlike any Sunstreaker had ever faced.
His valve tingled in memory.
"A-am I the first?" Sunstreaker asked, trying to distract himself from the low curl of arousal building in his belly. "The first attempt at finding a new queen, I mean."
"There were others."
"Yeah? What happened to them?"
Hardshell was quiet for a moment as he shifted to Sunstreaker's other leg, bending his focus upon it as though it was the most important task to him at the moment.
"One refused and was returned to the surface unharmed. They could not bring themselves to see us as intelligent creatures." His engine rumbled with offense. "They were no great loss."
"Why did you even consider them in the first place?"
"Our searcher evaluated their strength of will. It was adequate." Hardshell clicked his mandibles together, and it sounded like disgust. "The searcher was relieved of duty afterward."
'Relieved of duty'? Why did it sound like the searcher wasn't so much relieved as he was killed and/or consumed?
"What about the others?"
Hardshell's hands slid up, smoothing over his thigh, and Sunstreaker's ventilations quickened. "One did not understand our guarantee of safety and attacked us. We were forced to kill them. And the last one did not survive the process."
Sunstreaker stilled. "This could kill me?"
Hardshell's hands rested on his knees, and he looked up at Sunstreaker. "You have no concern. You are much stronger than them. They did not survive the first input, while your frame already craves the second."
"Does it?" Sunstreaker asked.
Hardshell tilted his head, and his hands slid up, thumbs caressing the inner plating of Sunstreaker's thighs, until they found his interfacing array. They brushed over it, and Sunstreaker sucked in a ventilation, a shiver of need clawing down his backstrut.
Sunstreaker parted his thighs further without thinking about it, and Hardshell's second touch was firmer. He bit off a groan, hips canting into Hardshell's fingers.
"This is why you are perfect," Hardshell murmured. "You are strong. You are what we need. You will be our queen."
Another stroke of his thumbs and Sunstreaker's panel snapped open, his sensors immediately bombarded by a wave of warm oil. He sucked in a moan, grasped Hardshell's shoulders, rolled his hips.
"Would you like more, my queen?" Hardshell asked, and his voice was deep and resonating, full of lascivious intent.
Primus.
Sunstreaker pulled him closer. "Yeah," he said, trying to throw his legs around Hardshell's waist, pull the Insecticon toward his waiting valve. "So long as it doesn't kill me."
Hardshell chuckled and slipped his hands around Sunstreaker's aft, lifting him from the shelf with ease. He swapped their places, seating himself and positioning Sunstreaker to straddle him, thighs splayed wide to accommodate his wider frame.
"It will not," Hardshell said, his hands sliding up and down Sunstreaker's back, teasing into seams.
Sunstreaker shivered. Hardshell touched nothing erogenous, yet the caress of his fingers set Sunstreaker's sensornet alive with want. He moaned, valve clenching on nothing, squeezing out lubricant into the warm oil.
"It will make you stronger, faster, better. It will make you our queen."
Hardshelll's spike nudged at his valve, and Sunstreaker canted his hips eagerly. Hardshell held him in place, sliding into him slow and careful, gliding along every internal sensor. He cupped Sunstreaker's left hip, but the other hand cradled his head, tipping his head back to nuzzle him.
"May I kiss you, my queen?" he asked.
Asked. He asked for everything. He offered so much.
Sunstreaker snagged him by the back of the head and pulled him into the kiss, thrusting his glossa into Hardshell's mouth, past dangerous denta. He moaned and sucked on Hardshell's glossa, the Insecticon's odd, earthy flavor suddenly intoxicating to him.
Hardshell's spike pierced him easily, with no need for the extended stretching their first encounter had taken, and it spilled crackles of charge along Sunstreaker's valve lining.
He spasmed in Hardshell's arms, gasping with pleasure, backstrut arching.
Hardshell took him slowly, like he was trying to taste every inch of Sunstreaker's valve, until he was fully seated. Sunstreaker's valve stretched wide, his thighs as well, hips aching from the splay, but it was a good ache. It made him crave more.
He moaned again, burying his face against Hardshell's intake, hips jerking in little rocks, his spike grinding against Hardshell's abdomen, catching on rises and nubs on Hardshell's armor.
"My beautiful queen," Hardshell murmured, and Sunstreaker gasped, an unexpected overload sweeping over his frame like a tide of charge, prickling over his armor, seeping warmth into his pelvic array.
He sank, like liquid, into Hardshell's lap, and Hardshell cradled him like something precious, as he rocked his hips, extending Sunstreaker's overload, his spike swelling incrementally, filling every nook and cranny in Sunstreaker's valve. The tip rubbed and caught on Sunstreaker's ceiling node, extending the pleasure.
There was no pain. Not even when Hardshell's extenders sank into the lining of his valve, and the electric trickle of the upload cascaded through his array. Sunstreaker moaned, dizzy with pleasure, overloading again, so quickly on the heels of the first. His valve throbbed, cycling hungrily, and Hardshell never stopped stroking him, murmuring to him, constant compliments and encouragement, until Sunstreaker swam in the praise.
"See?" Hardshell crooned as he swelled and swelled and swelled, until he was locked within Sunstreaker, tying them together, only able to shift in the smallest of increments. "You are perfect. You fit. You were made to be ours."
It sounded genuine. It felt true. It felt like belonging, like something settled warm and firm in the center of Sunstreaker's chassis, right below his spark. A tender pulse of acceptance, and for a moment, it was so foreign he thought he might need to evict it, until he realized how desperately he wanted to keep it.
"Your queen," he agreed as another wave of pleasure swept out from his valve, following the static-charge pulse of an upload. His fingers clawed into Hardshell's seams, his hips twitching but getting nowhere, valve stretched wide around Hardshell's knot.
He overloaded again, as if the acceptance triggered something inside of him, wave upon wave of crashing pleasure, flooding his frame. His valve spasmed, his spike erupted, and for a moment, his senses went absolutely white from the ecstasy.
He had no energy left in the aftermath. He felt as weak as a newspark, or a mech recently freed from a stasis chamber. His legs were as jelly, his limbs too heavy to lift. Hardshell was a comfortable, thrumming weight beneath him, still firm within his valve.
"Rest, my queen," Hardshell murmured as Sunstreaker sank against his chassis, sated and weary, little twitches running along his armor. "You are safe with me. Rest."
Safe.
Yes.
Sunstreaker was certain of it.
Waking in the berth was becoming a habit to Sunstreaker. It was hard to mind, however, given the comfort radiating through his frame, the warm rumble of Bob recharging at his feet, and the cradle of Hardshell’s arms around him.
"How do you feel?" Hardshell asked, his voice rumbling through Sunstreaker's audials.
"Drowsy," Sunstreaker admitted. He felt languid, like it was too much trouble to climb out of the berth. "Is it always going to be like this?"
Hardshell stroked his arm with long and gentle sweeps of his fingers. "For the first couple weeks, the first dozen uploads, yes. Your frame will be going through much change, and it will take a lot out of you."
"Unfortunate," Sunstreaker sighed. It was hard to stay focused. He felt tired, but not in a way that left him weak and uncomfortable. It was a relaxing tired, like he could stay in the berth for a few weeks and doze comfortably.
“It will be worth it.” Hardshell stroked the side of his face, and there was something reverent in it. “You will be stronger with every upload. Your stamina will increase. The times between rest will decrease. You will assimilate with ease.”
Assimilate.
Sunstreaker didn’t like the taste of the word. It was foul, like rotten energon. It tasted like Hunter and the Machina. Like losing his sense of self.
“Ease,” he repeated. “I notice you didn’t warn me about the danger. So much for your ease.” He injected venom into his tone, since he couldn’t work up the energy for anything more. His limbs were too sluggish. Hardshell was too warm.
It was too late to change his mind anyway. It was easier to see rationale in the aftermath. Harder when the need started boiling in him again, making him pliable.
Hardshell’s engine rumbled. “Would it have made a difference, my queen?”
“Do you think I have a fragging death wish?” Sunstreaker demanded, and he would have drawn away from Hardshell, would have shoved himself into some distance, if he could get his frame to obey his commands.
Hardshell’s quiet spoke more than an immediate reply.
“You may not have wanted to die, but you weren’t trying to live either,” Hardshell said, at length. “You came to us broken. You are still broken.”
Sunstreaker gritted his denta. He wished it were further from the truth, but Hardshell’s words struck too close to home. His field flashed with frustration, and that was when Bob woke from recharge. He trundled across the berth, clambering into the small space of Sunstreaker’s lap, worry etched into the awkward pats of his secondary hands.
“I’m fine, bug,” Sunstreaker sighed, stroking over Bob’s head and scratching at the base of his antennae. “You know, you and Starscream would get along, Hardshell. He’s not above manipulating others for his own needs either.”
“I sense you were attempting to insult me, but as I believe you belong here with us, I am not.” Hardshell’s engine rumbled, vibrating against Sunstreaker’s frame, not unlike the way Bob purred when he was happy about something. “You were meant to be ours.”
Sunstreaker sank into the warmth of Hardshell’s embrace, idly petting Bob as he did so. He’d never been good with words. He was a mech of action. He hadn’t the energy for action right now, but also, what was the point. He’d agreed to this. He’d survived the first upload. Clearly, he was already on the path to changing.
There wasn’t anything left for him at the surface. He might as well continue this path. Bob brought him here for a reason.
“I knew from the moment the searcher brought you to us, that you would be the one. You were strong. You were determined. You had a spark fit for a queen.” Hardshell’s tone was thick with praise, with reverence. It was hard not to fall under his spell. “You will be a queen I am eager to serve. You will heal us, and perhaps we might heal you in return.”
Bob nudged his head under Sunstreaker’s fingers, his antennae wiggling with delight. He chirred up at Sunstreaker as if agreeing with Hardshell.
“Whose side are you on anyway, bug?” Sunstreaker murmured, but there was no chastisement in his voice. Bob was the only one who stayed at his side, who wouldn’t leave him.
They’d saved each other.
Maybe Hardshell had a point.
“If you are angry with me, I will understand. If you wish to leave this place, we will mourn, but again, I will understand.” Hardshell’s voice was tight, carrying the weight of his disappointment. “But we are meant to be yours, Sunstreaker. Do not throw us away.”
Sunstreaker sighed and sank into Hardshelle’s embrace, tucked as he was against the Insecticon’s chassis. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m too tired.”
It was an excuse.
Hardshell didn’t call him on it.
“Rest, my queen,” he said. “I will guard your sleep.”
Sunstreaker believed him, at least in this.
